


Spitfire

by mary_sued



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/M, if you like beating up dagur, very short and self indulgent, was supposed to be a longer fic but idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 05:17:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12005835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mary_sued/pseuds/mary_sued
Summary: This was going to be a scene from a  multi-chapter fic, but I've lost steam for it. Hopefully it's still good as a one shot.A routine check of Dragon Island ends with an unexpected and unwanted visitor. Kameron treats him rough.





	Spitfire

None of the riders had returned by nightfall. They left early in the morning, promising to return with extra fish for her to train her dragon with after they did a routine check of Dragons Nest. It usually took them a day to circle the island and check for any new arrivals. They did it every month or so, just to keep up to date on the population nearby, and to make sure the nests remained undisturbed by those who weren’t as happy with the idea of breeding dragons.

Seeing as Kameron’s dragon was a barely trained Hobblegrunt, she wasn’t exactly invited. Spitfire still didn’t like being saddled and though she often jumped up onto his back for a ride to the academy or around the island, he just wasn’t ready to fly yet. She understood. She barely knew if she was ready to get in the air again, but as the sky grew dark and there were no shadows drifting home on the breeze she began to worry.

She was waiting for them in the academy, or she had been until it was too dark to stay and she felt bad for keeping the other dragons awake by leaving the torches lit. As she blew out the last one, content to walk to the village in the moonlight, Spitfire crept up behind her and nudged at her hand. She petted him absently and didn’t try to return him to his pen. He often followed her out, despite Hiccup disapproving. She knew he wasn’t fully trained yet but she couldn’t leave him behind if he wanted to be near her.

They walked to her hut in silence, trying not to disturb the rest of the villagers. She breathed in the night air and watched the stars whenever they peeked out from behind the clouds, mostly to try and alleviate her sudden anxiety. Spitfire picked up on it quickly, clicking quietly beside her. She touched his snout again, smoothing her thumb up and down the horn on the tip of his nose like a worry stone. The repetitive motion soothed them both and once they reached the hut she let him in.

The floor was stone, there was no room left for an extra house on short notice so she had a group of friendly Gronckles chew her space in the cliff side. The floor she left. Even though it grew cold, she liked not having to worry about errant coals bursting her house into flames, and dragons loved it. Often on the cooler nights she would light a fire and some Terrors and Fireworms would find their way in to curl around the heat. It got so crowded down there that she added a second floor, and that was where she slept.

She was tempted to go out again, climb up to a higher cliff or just sit outside and wait for their arrival, but Spitfire chose a patch of stone close to the doorway and burned himself a bed. He lay in it and trilled to her, not-so-subtly suggesting she do the same. It was a good idea, much better than worrying herself stupid all night and being useless tomorrow, so she climbed up the grooves she’d hacked into the stone wall and into her room. She slept soundly, the calming trills of her dragon helping her slip into a deep, dreamless sleep. Unfortunately, it was the only peace she was going to get for a while.

She awoke to harsh scratching. It was coming from across the room and she laughed before untangling herself from her sheets and pulling on some clothes. The sound was Spitfire trying to pull himself up into her room. He did it often, usually in the morning to wake her up before he left. This time he had managed to push his head through the small hole and hooked his small arms onto the floor, but the rest of him just wouldn’t fit through the gap and his large hind claws scratched uselessly at the stone wall. It took her a while to convince him to back out again, even longer to remind him that his frill had to be down to fit, and by then both had worked up quite an appetite.

Seeing as the others hadn’t returned with their promised fish, she sent Spitfire down to the academy alone to get his breakfast with the other dragons. She could make herself something, but instead she grabbed her medicine bag and turned to the great hall. Even with no feast on today, there was bound to be someone around with some bread or meat to spare that would gladly trade for some pain medication or soothing salve. Even though the people of the village considered her healing a fair payment for anything, she felt as though she was cheating them if she didn’t return their kindness. In return she keeps her door open at all hours. Her pride was never turning away a patient, even if it was three in the morning or they only _thought_ they were going to die.

It soon became clear that there was a crowd around the entrance. Was there a feast today? She couldn’t really keep up with the Viking calendar and no one told her when these events were supposed to happen. When she spotted Hookfang and the twins Zippleback at the dock she smiled to herself. The gang was finally back and there had been no need to worry. The crowd was dispersing quickly as well, likely they just arrived and everyone was just seeing how it went. As she got closer, however, she saw their faces. Those that were returning to the village were tense and a knot began to form in the pit of her stomach.

She sped up a little, not enough to run but definitely a brisk walk. Maybe they just had a bad report; too many dragons? Not enough? Her gut feeling said otherwise. She hoped she was wrong. The main doors were shut, but as she approached they creaked open and Astrid stepped out. If the villagers were tense she was stretched taut. She began to pace immediately and once Kameron stepped close enough to her she could also hear angry mumbling. She stopped a few paces away, afraid if she startled Astrid she’d end up with a face full of fist, and cleared her throat.

Her instincts were spot on, as Astrid whirled around and clenched her fist, but stopped when she saw who it was.

‘Oh, it’s you. I thought Snotlout had come back to bother me again.’ She tucked her fringe behind her ear, probably for the hundredth time that day, and Kameron said nothing as it slipped out.

‘Yeah, I saw the dragons and…’ and I’m worried.

Astrid sighed. It almost came out as a growl but she met Kameron’s eyes and said, ‘it’s not pretty.’

‘Can I see?’ Astrid hesitated at her question.

The last time she’d seen a bad injury was when Snotlout had been gored by a boar because Hookfang dropped him into the forest during a training flight. Astrid had taken her to him because she was the closest person with healing knowledge, and at the sight of the ragged puncture still oozing whenever he breathed too deeply she had vomited. Snotlout and the twins wouldn’t let her live it down for weeks. To her credit she had immediately stanched and bandaged the wound and even Gothi said that it was an immaculate job, but the shame of having a weak stomach stuck around.

Her healing prowess gave her the right to demand to see any injured, but she hadn’t had to exert it over anyone yet. Generally, people wanted to be treated immediately. Finally, Astrid relented and stepped aside from the door. Before Kameron could enter, the other girl grabbed her arm and looked her in the eyes. ‘Don’t lose your head in there, okay?’

The words shook her, but she didn’t let it show. Instead she smiled and closed the door behind her with no hesitation. Inside was dark. The main fire pit wasn’t lit, the only light came from torches that were further in and she felt her way through the main hall until her eyes adjusted. At the opposite end of the building, on the chiefs’ table, she could see the silhouette of someone sitting up. She quickened her pace and hopped up the steps lightly. When she was close enough she could see it was Hiccup. Of course it was Hiccup, that boy couldn’t go two days without a new injury.

Her steps faltered as her eyes fell to his arm. It had a long gash splitting open the flesh. He was currently holding it closed with his opposite hand and it wasn’t doing much, evidenced by how slick it was with his own blood. She scanned the rest of him quickly. His prosthetic was missing and his shirt was soaked a dark colour on the right side, but she couldn’t tell if that was from his arm or another wound. His face, and any other exposed flesh really, was littered with small cuts and bruises.

‘We were told Gothi was coming.’ She didn’t turn her head to acknowledge the voice, already flipping open her satchel and calculating how much moss and cotton wrap she would need.

‘I was closer.’ She met Hiccup’s eyes for a moment and the pain in them snapped her into action.

She started barking orders to the few people around her, uncaring of status, and unsurprisingly they were followed immediately. She sterilised her needles with fire and gave Hiccup the strap of leather she used to keep her bag closed. He looked confused for a moment as she pushed it against his mouth until she said, ‘we don’t want you to bite off your own tongue.’

With the leather held securely between his teeth she began to sew, tugging one side of the flesh toward the other. It was a slow process, she had to stop often to mop up fresh blood with moss and sometimes Hiccup would need a moment before she continued, but when it was finished she wrapped it tight and made him a temporary sling. More to remind him not to use it than anything else. It was as she began to swab at the rest of his scrapes with a sea sponge dipped in ocean water that she was made aware of her second patient.

The boy was in the back corner under the watchful eye of both Spitelout and Gobber, and before she could even recognise him she ordered he be brought to the light. She finished up with Hiccup, leaving him paler than before but finally in one piece. The other boy was ushered to the opposite end of the table and she huffed in annoyance at having to move all of her equipment. After a moments pause she did though, aware that Hiccup probably wouldn’t want to be moved for a while. She was about to reprimand them for not making her aware of the other boy, she should have been allowed to check which injury needed faster treatment, but when she looked up at him she froze.

He was staring straight at her, eyes bright though hazy with pain, and a blood smeared grin on his face. He had less obvious injuries. As far as she could see by his careful breathing, he may have a fractured rib, or an open wound. His helmet had been stripped from him before he reached this point, but with the rest of his armour on she couldn’t see any blood. Judging by how tense the others were around him though, Hiccup’s sudden injuries made sense.

She was trying her best to remain professional. No one knew she knew the crazy Berserker, no need to inform them, until Dagur opened his stupid mouth as though he wasn’t flirting with getting a punctured lung, ‘So, this is where you got off to.’

She turned sharply and glared at him, as though that would make the idiot shut up. It didn’t.

He simply tilted his head to the side and continued on as though she’d just invited him around for tea. ‘Last time I saw you, you were with that other girl, the ginger one. You know the one.’ Of course she knew the one. ‘Yeah, you made her take the last boat with that dumb dragon I shot.’

Her blood boiled. The mention of Spitfire, as though he was some pet or livestock, struck her deeply. Their last encounter was short lived and ended with a warning. A warning he obvious had not heeded.

‘I told you.’ Her words made him cock his head like some strange bird, stifling giggles.

‘Oh yes I remember ‘if you ever touch my friends again—’

She interrupted his nasal interpretation of her voice, ‘I told you even though I’m little, I’ll still kick your ass. Now, look where we are. I hope you know how to take a punch, asshole.’

The words stunned him for a moment, and that was all she needed to line up her knuckles, reel back and punch the idiot square in the mouth. She felt the pain of a poorly thrown punch before she realised she’d done it and saw the curl of his smile before he could turn to her, probably to claim that it didn’t hurt, so she preemptively drove her other fist into his stomach directly beneath where she estimated the fractured rib was and forced the air out of him with a wheeze.

She wanted to rub her knuckles to relieve the ache but instead turned to her tools. ‘Armour off.’

He was stunned, and probably dazed from the punch, and so didn’t make a quip about stripping for her. She allowed herself to feel a small sense of satisfaction at his easy compliance. Her outburst seemed to shock the others but in the quiet that followed it she spotted Hiccup being helped out by Astrid. She called out after them that he better go straight home and after a moment sent Gobber after them to make sure he actually did. Knowing Hiccup, he’d rather stop by the forge and make a new leg and if he tore any of the stitches she just put in him she might be the reason he meets an untimely end.

With only one patient left she turned to Dagur, startled by how close he’d gotten. His stunned look had turned into a grin and she met it with an unimpressed stare.

‘I thought I said armour off.’

He responded with a shrug, and then a wince. ‘Can’t reach it right. When I lift my arms too high it hurts.’

It’s not a great excuse, she’s seen him wield an axe with a broken arm, but seeing as he had a nasty bruise forming on the side of his face and she may have just finished breaking his rib she allowed it.

‘Just tell me where the buckles are and I’ll remove it myself.’ He was shaking his head before she finished, smile gone. ‘I can’t treat you if I can’t reach you, idiot.’

He shifted uncomfortably and looked down at the table, probably trying to think of another excuse, but she took the opportunity to pull the guards from his shoulders. He grunted something under his breath but she had no patience left for him and continued to remove his shirt. When he had to raise his arms he hissed but let her do it. The compliance was almost odd. He must be in more pain than he’s letting on. With that in mind, she peeled away his shirt and began to prod at his back. She knew the break was probably on his front, but she wasn’t ready to look at that yet. As crazy as the boy was, spending all your time hunting did wonders for your abs.

She did her best to remind herself of the situation and why she _shouldn’t_ be ogling this man's abs before returning to his front and sucking in a breath at the nasty bruising spreading across it. It may be difficult to gauge where the break is if every time she pokes him it hurts. She wasn’t about to warn him though. She started prodding immediately and, ignoring his maniacal giggling, managed to pinpoint the break when he slapped her hand away and grunted. She would have been sorry if it hadn’t wipe the smile off his face. She snatched up the sponge and ocean water, but grimaced at the brown tint in it and requested another. Last thing they want is some kind of infection.

While they were waiting she hopped up on the table next to him and turned to Stoick.

‘He’s got a fractured rib, nothing else.’ She knew that’s all he would want to know from her.

‘When will he be fit to leave?’

She turned to him sharply, ‘He’s leaving? After…?’ She gestured at the door after his son. Stoick’s not known to be a particularly forgiving man, being sent home scot-free was unheard of.

The larger man turned his unimpressed gaze to her, raising an eyebrow. ‘That wasn’t him.’

Oh.

‘Oh.’

Well, doesn’t that make her an ass.

‘I just assumed…’ She trailed off awkwardly.

Stoick cleared his throat and eyed off the youth behind her, ‘Dagur says that he was on Dragon’s Nest trying to find Hiccup. He wants to make peace again.’

She mumbled under her breath, ‘probably because we’ve kicked his butt more times than he can count.’

Stoick ignored the interruption but she heard Dagur snort behind her. ‘He protected him from a Nadder that thought they were after her eggs. The story’s been confirmed by Hiccup.’ But he doesn’t trust it.

She could sense that easily enough. ‘So you want him to sign and go?’

‘I’m right here.’ His tone made it seem like he was about to start ranting so she waved her hand at him without turning around. ‘You can’t speak right now, bad for your rib.’

‘What? I can do--’

She whipped around and glared, ‘as your healer I demand that you remain silent for the sake of your own health. Do we understand each other?’

He answered with a sneer and a nod, and she returned to her conversation.

Stoick hides his amusement with the interaction. Wouldn’t do to annoy Dagur so close to a possible peace talk. ‘We need him to recover so he can be sent home and return with the proper formalities.’

‘Well,’ she sighed heavily, ‘it’ll take a few weeks until they’re healed fully, but he can leave before then. He’ll just need to be careful until I think he’s not in danger of breaking anything or limiting his mobility. Shouldn’t be longer than three weeks, less if he’s cooperative.’

‘Then I leave him in your capable hands.’ Stoick turned away from them to leave, grabbing Spitelout’s shoulder and murmuring something to him, leaving the shocked girl to gape at his back until her voice came unstuck from her throat.

‘ _My_ hands? Why am I stuck with him?’ It came out as more of a petulant whine than she wanted but the point stood.

Stoick turned to her and raises an eyebrow. ‘You said it yourself, you’re his healer. I leave you in charge of his full recovery. _Do we understand each other?_ ’

She huffed at having her own words turned against her but it was logical enough so she stayed silent. She turned sharply to her new charge and growled, ‘get up, you’re not staying in this musty old building.’ It’s more of a jab at the retreating back of Stoick but he just waved farewell without turning around.

When Dagur took too long sliding off the table she yanked him by his arm. ‘Put a shirt on. I don’t want to have to deal with hypothermia as well.’

He wiggled his eyebrows at her and she gave him a disgusted look and threw his sweaty shirt in his face. ‘Don’t forget your armour, I’m not carrying it for you.’

She gathered her things and dumped them unceremoniously into her bag. She only kept an eye on him to make sure he didn’t run off or do something stupid. He looked dumb without his gaudy helmet on and the usual paint over his eye was smeared and gross. She resolved to take him past the baths before they went back to her place. The last thing she wanted was for her home to stink of old blood, sweat _and_ rotting fish. She could only deal with one set of awful smells thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone thinks this has some potential shoot me a message, because I still love the ideas but don't really have anywhere for them to go.


End file.
